Chapter 1 - THE NAME SHE WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO HEAR
Talia looked at the black card, then at the man holding it.
“You know who I am?” Dante asked.
“Yes.”
His expression barely changed, but something sharpened behind his eyes.
“That sounded certain.”
“My father taught me to recognize dangerous names.”
Rain hammered the awning above them. Across the street, the black sedan remained parked with its headlights off.
Dante slipped the card back into his coat.
“What did your father say about mine?”
Talia’s jaw tightened.
“That Marchelli men smile when they’re about to make you an offer you can’t survive refusing.”
One corner of Dante’s mouth lifted.
“My father had a flair for reputation.”
“Had?”
“He died nine years ago.”
For the first time, Talia looked surprised.
Dante noticed.
“You didn’t know.”
“I don’t exactly subscribe to organized-crime newsletters.”
A car door slammed somewhere behind them.
Talia’s gaze flicked toward the sound.
Dante noticed that too.
“Who trained you?”
“No one.”
“That move inside says otherwise.”
“He grabbed me.”
“And you dropped a man forty pounds heavier without taking one step backward.”
Talia pushed away from the wall.
“I’m unemployed now. If this is an interview, the answer is no.”
Dante moved into her path without touching her.
“I didn’t offer you a job.”
“Then move.”
“I’ve been looking for someone.”
“So hire a detective.”
“I hired twelve.”
That stopped her.
Dante reached inside his coat again, slower this time.
He removed a small photograph protected inside a clear plastic sleeve.
Talia stared.
The rain seemed to disappear.
The noise of Manhattan faded with it.
The photograph showed a girl around twelve years old standing beside a younger boy on a porch in Connecticut.
The girl was Talia.
She had not seen that house since the night her family fled.
On the back, written in faded blue ink, were six words.
FIND THE MERCER GIRL. TRUST ONLY DANTE.
Talia’s face went cold.
“Where did you get this?”
“My father left it in his private safe.”
“Why?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
A shadow moved across the street.
Talia saw it first.
She grabbed Dante’s coat and pulled him sideways.
A bullet punched through the restaurant window behind them.
People screamed inside Belluno’s.
Dante’s men moved instantly.
Another shot cracked through the rain.
Talia and Dante hit the pavement behind a parked SUV.
“You brought this to me?” Talia hissed.
“No.”
“Then someone followed you.”
Dante checked the street.
“No.”
Talia looked at the shattered glass.
Then at the photograph still clenched in his hand.
Her stomach dropped.
“They weren’t following you.”
Dante slowly turned toward her.
May you like
Talia whispered the secret she had spent fifteen years burying.
“Mercer isn’t my real last name.”
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